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I can’t describe how hot this woman, Heather, was to me. Older, yes, by almost 10 years, but man, she worked out and I don’t know bra sizes, but she had a rack like you wouldn’t believe. She let me feel her muscles on her arms.

When I did she said I was “built like a girl.” But she seemed to think it was funny, and I think she liked me a little for letting her make a joke at my expense. I am scrawny and… uh, short.

Now, whiskey hits me quick and I’d already had two by that point, but seeing her boobs all pushed up in that denim vest in her Daisy Dukes, with that tight tummy and cowgirl hat… she bent over once in a pool game, just so, stuck her butt out and “accidentally” bumped it into me. She gave me a knowing look, and we chatted, buying each other $1 PBR back and forth for the rest of the night.

Eventually a slow country song came on and we danced. Just face-to-face at first, but then she leaned into me. It was like she needed me to lean on. I held her close and… I was sure she felt my stiffy, thought she would pull away. But instead, she turned around, leaned back into me… into me with her back… and she raked her tush left-to-right, right-to-left across my hard on, pressed into me with earnest eagerness.

Finally, when the song ended, we were alone in the corner. How I wish it’d been close to last call. I wanted to take this woman home with me. It was still kind of dark, but we were both drunk and horny. And she’d been flirting with me all night. She needed to know, so I told her my full size and this horny cougar whispered into my ear…

“Honey, I don’t care how little you are soft. I want it hard…”

I stood there with a pleading look on my face. She looked into my eyes, raised an eyebrow. “I felt you, you know, ladies do pay attention… I know you weren’t…”

And her eyebrow froze in place at its peak as the realization dawned on her that she was wrong. She had felt me hard. She looked down, saw my “tent,” and stifled a laugh behind her hand. She was drunk enough to put a lot of emphasis on her attempt to whisper, so that she mouthed the word and I barely heard her, but the word was clear.

“Really?”

Before I could even nod, she grabbed for it. Her hand encompassed my hard shaft entirely through my jeans.

“You’d disappear between my tits.” She said it matter-of-factly. It was undeniably true, even in her imagination.

While she did this, she squeezed my mousey toy, not moving her wrist, but with her fist pulsing quickly, tightly once, twice… and she continued even after I came, a third pulse, a fourth… but by then she must have felt the moistness of my seed against her hand on my pants.

Instantly, Heather threw up her hands and burst into drunkenly loud laughter. I swear everyone in the bar turned and looked. Blushing uncontrollably and still shuddering from orgasm, I covered my cum stain with my hand and fled into the men’s bathroom.

I was drunk and totally turned on, even though I just came all over myself, so after cleaning the semen out of my underwear and my pubic hair there in the stall, I waited, noticed no-one else was in the bathroom, and started jerking off as quietly as I thought I could.

Heather and I weren’t standing too far from the bathroom when she’d grabbed me, and she hadn’t moved. She was like a sentinel, sticking her butt out in tight jean shorts, pouty lips and cocked pinky finger awaiting to show me my full shame.

I could hear her friends come over and start asking what happened. She told them all, and there was another chorus of laughter. I jerked off even harder, not realizing that if I could hear them plainly, they could hear me, too.

One of her friends said it, I don’t know who, but it was the beginning of what I remember most of that conversation (other than feeling a fresh surge of arousal every time one of them laughed). “It fit in your hand? How is he jacking off if he can’t even stroke it? Oh my God!”

And Heather shouted into the bathroom door, “Have fun jerking it with two fingers, little boy!”

She had meant it as an insult, but, still being only semi-erect again, from being drunk and having cum once already, I didn’t have enough to fill up my hand. It was undeniably true that I was jerking it with two fingers– had to, to get a stroke at that size. I groaned in surprise as I came again at the realization– totally sudden and unexpected, almost instantly on hearing her say “two fingers” and “little.” A fresh peal of laughter headed out the bar.

I waited until I was clean again, though I couldn’t get the stain out. When I thought it was safe, I stood up from the toilet, wrapped tightly in my coat, and made my way out as discreetly as possible.